


Come Gladly Away

by xaritomene



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Exile, Friendship/Love, M/M, Magic, Thralldom, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was banished from Camelot five years ago, after an incident revealed his magic - no one has heard of him since. Arthur is now King, and he wants him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magog_83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/gifts).



> I started writing this many, many years ago, and more chapters may take a while to come. One day, when everyone has long forgotten that the Merlin fandom was even a thing, I will probably sit back, smile and gaze on my finished work, only to realise that no one cares anymore.
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> Still, here it is on AO3! Some changes have been made to the original version on LJ, and it's dedicated to magog_83, who's always been so supportive of this silly little story. :D

Word of a stranger flew round the tiny village of Rainsford faster than anyone could have believed, and the tiny Tavern was packed with people wanting to hear his story even before night fell. Tucked away in the foothills of a mountain range, strangers were a rarity in Rainsford, and no one wanted to miss out on the excitement.

His name was Sir Acturus, and he was from Camelot, on a quest from Prince Arthur himself, the Prince’s last quest before the Prince was crowned King of Albion. Five of the greatest knights in Camelot had ridden out, and Prince Arthur himself, and they were searching for the sorcerer, Merlin, banished from Camelot five years ago.

“For what purpose, sir?” One of the braver men, John, asked, greatly daring. “We heard of all that, even here. The sorcerer were banished, weren’t he?”

His wife stepped on his foot, and hissed, “‘ _Wasn’t_ he’!” too-audibly in his ear. John flushed, but didn’t back down.

“He were banished – wasn’t he?” he corrected himself, with a venomous look at his wife.

Acturus smiled and nodded, his expression rather distant. “He was, on the King’s orders. Have you heard any other news of him other than that? Has anyone seen him, or heard of him?”

“He’s a sorcerer,” another man piped up. “He’ll have vanished off the face of the earth.”

Acturus shook his head. “I don’t think so. From what Prince Arthur said, magic doesn’t work like that.”

“Prince Arthur, studying magic?” Elspeth, the village gossip, scoffed. “I _don't_ think so.” She flushed, suddenly. “Er, no offence intended, my lord.”

“Strange things happen at Camelot,” Acturus murmured, and the villagers nodded, knowingly. Everyone knew Camelot was a strange place. “So you’ve had no news of the sorcerer?”

There was a moment’s silence, before one of the younger girls said, shyly, “I heard he rides these parts at night, on a black horse. And anyone who sees him dies.”

“Who did you hear it from, then?” A boy demanded, grinning.

Acturus smiled at her kindly, though his expression was still more than a little distant. Sadly, though, the tale seemed to spark something among the villagers, and the tales that had grown up around Merlin were all pouring out.

“I heard he has an extra eye, that’s always awake and watching!” Matilda said, rather shrilly.

“I heard that he disguises himself as an ordinary person, and sheds the skin when he’s done!”

“I heard that the nothing will grow where he’s walked!”

This last was greeted by a howl of derision. “Pretty easy for him to be found then!” Someone shouted back, and for a few moments, they laughed, easy among themselves.

Acturus’ expression was indulgent but disappointed. George, the headman, lent over to him with a wry, apologetic look. “As you can see, we’ve no real news of the sorcerer. Just stories.”

Acturus nodded with a smile. “I can see.”

“Yes,” George’s voice was very level. “And even we would notice someone like that walking through our village.”

“Why did you say you were searching for Merlin, again?” Elspeth pressed, and Acturus sighed.

“It is Prince Arthur’s intention to overthrow the current law against magic,” he said, heavily. “He feels the help of this sorcerer, Merlin, could be of great use to him.”

There was a long, tense silence after that, while the villagers wrestled with the idea of living with magic again after twenty years. It was nearly a minute before anyone spoke up again.

“Albion was never right without magic,” Geoffrey said, his voice rather wheezy. He was the oldest man in the village, and commanded respect even though some of the children rolled their eyes. “Crops didn’t grow right – rivers stopped running clean. The air was heavier.”

John frowned at that. “Stuff and nonsense, Father,” he said, firmly.

“What would you know of it?” the old man retorted, with surprising sharpness. “You were a child when our warlock was driven out of the village on Uther’s orders.”

“Magic’s dangerous, though,” Matilda said uncertainly. “That’s why it was banned.”

“Maybe in Camelot,” Geoffrey said derisively. “Everything is dangerous there, that’s what these big towns and cities do to normal, honest folk. Out here, magic was perfectly safe.”

Acturus spoke up. “And the stories of Merlin are just that – stories. I never saw him do evil.” He shrugged, humorously. “Or shed his skin, mistress.” He nodded at Matilda. “Or any sign of that extra eye.” A couple of people round the room flushed.

“You knew him?” One of the children piped up. On receiving a glare from his mother, he added, hastily, “My lord.”

Acturus smiled, the first real smile he’d given since he got there. “Oh, yes.” He stood, and dozens of chairs scraped back as everyone stood with him. “If you good people will excuse me,” he said, politely, and several of the younger women girls flushed, “I’ve had a long journey, and need to sleep. In the morning, if it’s agreeable, I’d like to meet all the young men of the village. Prince Arthur asked that we leave no stone unturned in our search.”

George nodded. “They’ll be working in the quarry from first light, though, my lord. What time would be agreeable for you?”

“If they’re needed from first light, I will be up before then,” Acturus said, pleasantly. “Provided that doesn’t pose a problem for anyone. If they could come here…?”

“They’ll be here, my lord. You all hear that?” he called out, over the villagers heads, and received a chorus of agreement from his village.

“Before first light then.” He bowed slightly to George, who hurried to bow deeply and inelegantly back. With that, he was gone, disappearing up the stairs to the Tavern’s one room, leaving the villagers to talk among themselves.

“As if he can expect to find Merlin here,” Elspeth said, loudly and derisively, and was hushed from all sides. “Well, he can’t!” she returned, hotly, but in a much quieter voice. “All the boys here were born here, barring two or three, and they’re all of them hard-working, normal lads!”

“True’s true,” George agreed, sagely. “But whatever his lordship says, Merlin’s a sorcerer, he could be anywhere. Prince Arthur’s right to take no chances.” He shrugged, “I says a thorough man’ll make a good king, no matter how foolish that thoroughness might seem here.”

On that note, the village dispersed, though none of them slept much that night. A stranger with an interesting quest was more excitement than any of them had seen for years.

**

The next morning before first light saw Acturus in the Tavern’s taproom, with a handful of young men, all between eighteen and thirty. The candles were burning low and Acturus was peering at each face in turn, before shaking his head and turning away, moving onto the next man. All of them got the same reaction, and finally he sighed, turning to George, and shrugging eloquently.

“You’re sure there are no other young men here?”

George returned the knight’s shrug with one of his own. “Only Mark Taverner’s drudge, my lord, and he’s a half-wit. Not to mention, he’s an indented servant. No more a sorcerer than you or me.”

“Merlin escaped notice as a sorcerer for three years, right under King Uther’s nose, which is why we were told to take no chances.” Acturus’ voice was firm. “Let me see him.”

George wore a speaking expression, but he went to the backroom of the little Tavern, and returned pulling a tall, slight young man of indeterminate age behind him. His skin was very pale and smeared with all kinds of filth; his dark hair stood up every which-way, and his clothes were ragged and untidy. More than that, he smelt badly of whatever Taverner kept in his backroom-come-kitchen.

George shoved the young man towards Acturus with a look of faint distaste, and the boy ended up on his knees in front of the knight, glancing up at him through the strands of his too-long, too-dirty hair, before looking sharply back down at the floor.

Acturus paused for a long moment, looking down at the man, his own expression unreadable, while the drudge kept his eyes firmly on the knight’s feet. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly.

“He might not understand, my lord, he’s as witless as the day he was b-” George began, but one look from the knight stopped him.

“What’s his name?” he asked, quietly.

“He arrived here without one,” George shrugged. “A year, maybe two years ago. Mark named him David, but he only recognises it once in a dozen times.”

“David.” The knight’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Look at me.” Still no reaction. Thinking quickly, Acturus looked at George. “Trauma can break a man’s wits. It’s possible David here may know something of Merlin, he might talk to me better without a crowd. Would you…?” he gestured to the door. George simply nodded by way of reply, herding all the other young men of the village, who had been watching the scene avidly, out and into the little street, leaving with only a curious glance back himself.

Throughout it all, the drudge kept his head down, kneeling on the straw Taverner scattered over the floor of his taproom to soak up any spills. After an agonising moment of inaction, Acturus dropped to his knees himself, and took the drudge’s chin in one hand. “Merlin, look at me,” he ordered, very softly.

“I know Merlin,” the young man said, his voice cracking over the words so they sounded madder than they were. “I see him when I sleep, comes to me, talks to me, whispers about magic and dragons and princes. We talk.”

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Merlin,” Acturus said, with a smile. “I’m surprised you’re still only on the first sign.”

David shook his head. “I’m not Merlin,” he said, quietly, his voice hoarse with lack of use.

“And I suppose you don’t recognise me?” Acturus said quietly.

“How would I recognise your lordship?” he asked.

“I recognise you, Merlin. I’ve had the kingdom searched for you, looked everywhere for you… why hide from me?”

Merlin shook his head, finally abandoning the pretence. “I don’t – I was banished for a reason.”

Arthur shook his head firmly. “No. My father hated magic, that’s all it was-”

“I nearly killed you, Arthur!”

“And how long would I have been dead before that if you hadn’t been there beside me!?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said stubbornly. “I could have killed you. Just because it wasn’t me-”

“You would never hurt me,” Arthur told him, very firmly. “We both know it.”

“I won’t come back to Camelot,” Merlin told him, equally firm, a mulish look on his face.

“And I won’t leave here without you!”

“Then build a house,” Merlin told him with a shrug.

“Merlin, do you really want to stay here?” Arthur asked persuasively. “The people here-”

“Are honest men and women-”

“Who will be terrified of you when they all find out who you are," Arthur overrode him. “They think you’re a mindless half-wit thrall, for God’s sake! And their idea of ‘Merlin’ is some devil-”

“I don’t care!” Merlin cried, his voice breaking over the words. “They can think what they like of me, believe what ever rumours they like, but I’m not going to come back to Camelot and put you in danger!”

“You kept me out of danger," Arthur retorted. He stood, and offered a hand to Merlin, who took it with the greatest reluctance, wincing slightly as he pulled himself up. Abruptly, Arthur let go of his hand and turned away. “I missed you,” he said bluntly. “We weren’t – I mean, we didn’t… I know you were only supposed to be my servant, but I missed you. You were a friend as well.”

“Then it was lucky your father only had me flogged and exiled, rather than having me beheaded,” Merlin said softly, the bitterness in his tone worn to a trickle.

Arthur laughed without humour. “That wasn’t luck,” he told him, his own voice bitter enough for both of them. “That was me.”

It was Merlin’s turn to stare. “What?”

“And it was hardly merciful, was it?” Arthur went on, apparently ignoring him. “That flogging nearly killed you anyway.”

“You watched?”

Arthur turned back to look at him, and for a second, his whole bearing was exhausted. “Of course I watched,” he said heavily. “I had to make sure my father didn’t go back on his word; I made sure I was near you until the moment you left our borders, in case the King changed his mind. And I watched as you bled and bled - Gods, I thought you would never stop bleeding, that you'd die on the road before I could ever-" he broke off. "Don't ever call it lucky," he said shortly. "Luck had nothing to do with it. And Camelot hasn't dealt in luck since you left her." He turned away for a second, steeling himself, then looked back at Merlin, his eyes heavy on Merlin's face. “My father didn’t even let you see Gaius before you left. Gaius never forgave him for that.”

“Is-" Merlin shifted nervously, one hand worrying at his cuff. "Is Gaius is dead?”

“No. My father is,” Arthur replied shortly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Arthur said, matter-of-fact after his brief loss of control. “Even I’m less sorry than I should be.” They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Arthur spoke up again. “Please. Come back to Camelot with me.”

“Arthur-”

“Don’t say you can’t,” Arthur told him, firmly. “You can. It wasn’t you, Merlin, Nimueh possessed you, she used your magic for her own purposes. Come back with me, and you’ll be my advisor, my confidante, not – a drudge in some filthy backwater tavern. Camelot needs you.” He cleared his throat. " _I_ need you."

Merlin couldn’t meet his Prince’s eyes, and it seemed Arthur couldn’t bear to look away from him. “Your Majesty-”

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur interrupted quickly, then tried to pass off the urgency in his voice with a nervous laugh. "It sounds so strange coming from you. You were never good at formality, d'you remember?"

Merlin smiled, just a little, and Arthur visibly relaxed. “Arthur,” Merlin amended. “I - I didn't know what Nimueh did to me was possible. I'm one of the strongest sorcerers I know of, but she possessed me and you nearly died. There is _nothing_ to stop that happening again. Do you think I can take that risk? I would risk anything else for you, but not _your_ life.”

“In three years, did anything like that happen before?” Arthur asked pointedly.

“That it happened once is bad enough!”

Arthur was in front of him in one stride, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. Merlin couldn’t quite suppress the flinch, and Arthur gentled his hold on him, clasping Merlin's shoulders carefully. “I would never hurt you," he promised, "However infuriating you might be. And you would never hurt me. I _know you_ , Merlin. You're too good a man to kill someone over a grudge. In pitched battle, maybe, but never in cold blood. We'll - we'll find some way to stop you, if you like, some way to restrain you if anything goes wrong, but I know that left to yourself, you'll never try to hurt me."

“Could you risk my life?" Merlin asked pointedly, and Arthur sighed, letting his hands drop.

"I'm a King, Merlin," he said dully. "There is no one's life I wouldn't risk for the good of my country - not mine, not yours. And frankly," he shook off his dark mood, "it’s too much of a risk not to have you with me. If you won’t come back for me,” Merlin winced again, “Come back for Albion. Nimueh hates us, and we have no one who can match her; we're at the mercy of every neighbouring country who wants to try out her new King; our harvests have been poor for years. Albion needs you even more than I do.”

Merlin was watching him, his eyes thoughtful. "You've changed," he said lightly, though Arthur couldn't read his expression.

"Things were hard after you left," he told him quietly, painfully. "I was alone at court again, and I could no longer trust my father, or the things I had been taught. Morgana and I worked things through together before - before she had to leave. I learnt that I wanted to be a good King, not just a stern one, like my father. But for that I need you. You've always inspired me to be a better man, and a better Prince. Now I need you to help me to be a good King."

There was a moment of painful silence, before Merlin simply nodded, taking the hand Arthur was holding out in both his own, dropping to his knees and kissing Arthur’s ring. Looking up at Arthur, he smiled suddenly. "You will be a great King," he promised. "If you want me by your side, I'll be honoured to be there."

Arthur shook his head, looking rather pained, and pulled him up. “You don’t bow to me,” he said quietly, and Merlin frowned.

“You’re my King.”

“You’re my friend,” Arthur told him firmly. He pulled Merlin over to one of the small tables and sat him down. “Just – just sit there, would you? You look like you’re about to keel over. I’m going to get you a bath.”

“I don’t know that my master has one,” Merlin said thoughtlessly, and Arthur’s expression darkened.

“He’s not your master,” he told him firmly. “And if he doesn’t have one, I’ll get him to bloody well make one for you.”

“It might be easier if you took me down to Glenburn,” Merlin pointed out. “There’ll be inns there, and people won’t talk so much.” He paused, then flushed darkly, all too noticeable on his pale skin, even under all the grime. “You’ll have to buy my indenture off Taverner,” he said, would-be casually, but Arthur gritted his teeth anyway. “It’s not worth much, but…”

“I’ll pay him whatever he wants for it,” Arthur said flatly. “And then we’ll head for Glenburn. How far is it?”

“About seven or eight hours on foot. On horseback, four, maybe five. You’ll have to go slower with me there, though, I don’t think I walk as quickly as your horse.”

“You’ll ride with me, you idiot,” Arthur said firmly.

Merlin smiled. "I pity the horse," he murmured.

“That's enough out of you," Arthur retorted. "I’ll see about finding you another horse in Glenburn, one which will get you back to Camelot.”

“I’m not a very good rider.”

“Trust me, Merlin, I remember.” They grinned at each other, a little of their old camaraderie returning, banishing the solemnity of their earlier conversation. Arthur stood. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes; go up to my room, there are some clean clothes in a bundle there, meant for you. If you’re not bathing here, at least you won’t smell quite so much like a cow-byre.” He paused in the doorway, on hand on the door. “I’m glad I found you, Merlin,” he said very softly. “I missed you.”

Merlin smiled, warm and open and just like Arthur remembered. "I missed you too," he said, and let Arthur go.


	2. Chapter 2

Even in the dim early light, it was easy to see George standing opposite the tavern, arms folded and legs akimbo. “Everything alright, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur nodded politely. “Thank the men for getting up so early; Prince Arthur will be grateful.” It was irritating to be travelling under an alias, but while there was no heir to the throne, he couldn’t afford to go gallivanting across the country without a guard. The danger that he would be killed was all too high, and Albion would be plunged into another civil war, less than thirty years after the last one. Still, now he'd found Merlin he doubted he'd even need a guard.

“Did David tell y’anything useful, my lord?” George asked, with poorly-concealed interest.

“I believe he may be useful to me.” Arthur said carefully. “I’d like to take him with me when I go. Where will I find Mark Taverner at this time of day? I need to buy David’s indenture off him.”

“Taverner? He’ll either be with the goats, or in his brewery up there." He pointed at the little attic of the tavern. “But I’m sure he’d be happy to let you have his drudge for a spell,” Arthur had to hide his smile at the unintended pun, “and return him when you’re done with him. He needs help with the tavern, and it’s not so easily come by round here.”

“Certainly not so cheaply as an indented servant,” Arthur agreed, and George nodded agreeably, missing the dark twist to Arthur’s words. “Between you and me, Headman, how would you say Taverner treated his – drudge?”

George paused, apparently a little confused. “Well enough, my lord? As well as he could, and still get work out of him. Way we all saw it, man owed him.”

“How so?” Arthur asked casually.

“When he turned up here, he was soaked to the skin and half-dead,” George shrugged, and Arthur stiffened. “Taverner took him, clothed him, fed him, got him healthy again. Gave him a job, and there’s not many would do that, sir, for a half-wit with no name and family.”

“He’s always been a half-wit, then?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Geoffrey nodded firmly. “Never opened his mouth after the fever went, and when he did, he talked about dreams and dragons and foolish nonsense. Not a lick of sense to him. And when he did speak sense, it was never for long. Taverner did him a favour, buying his indenture like that.”

“Taverner bought it off him?” Arthur asked curiously. “So he had it with him already?”

“Yes, my lord. Only thing he did have with him, a load of papers he said his last master had had, in one of the times he made sense. Taverner worked a spell in Glenburn, said it was indenture papers and bought them off him for a sovereign.”

“For how long?” Arthur asked, almost dreading to hear the answer.

“Six years, my lord. Though, if you ask me, David’d never have left this village if it weren’t for you coming here. Where else would he go?”

Where else indeed, Arthur agreed inwardly, his mouth settling into a grim line. Merlin had run as far from Camelot as he could get while still staying in Albion, though heaven only knew why he had stayed in Albion at all. For whatever reason, though, Merlin had decided not to leave the country, and he couldn’t have run any further away without hitting the coastline just over the mountains. And no matter what the reason, Arthur was glad of it; finding Merlin would have been harder still if he'd had to treat with other countries to get to him.

George was still watching him curiously, and he shook himself, and managed a smile. “Forgive me, I was just wondering where to start. The drudge is... full of useful information, and I’m eager to be off. Taverner may be in his brewery or – with the goats, you said?”

“Yes, my lord. David can show you the way.” Geoffrey unfolded his arms and turned away. “I’ve got to be going, or I’d show you myself. Good day to your lordship, and good luck.”

“Gods be with you,” Arthur murmured, bowing a little, his thoughts still elsewhere. He pulled himself together for long enough to add, "and thank the rest of the village for their kindness to me.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it on, my lord,” Geoffrey said, pleased.

Arthur watched for a few moments as Geoffrey left, and headed back into the tavern, up to his room, pausing on the stairs as he heard shouting above him.

“Told you… mind yourself… regret…” Only snatches of words could be heard through the thick door, and Arthur hastened up the stairs, throwing the door open and regarding the scene with something akin to horror.

Taverner had Merlin by the arm and was shaking him violently, red-faced and angry, shouting in his face, while Merlin simply stared at him, apparently too shocked to respond properly. “…catch you in the guest’s room, trying to steal things I’ll bet, you’ll regret it, d’you hear me?!” Merlin’s eyes slid away from him as Arthur opened the door, and Taverner paused, looking round. On seeing Arthur in the doorway, he stopped shaking Merlin, but didn’t let go of his arm. “My lord…” he began, awkwardly, and Arthur frowned him into silence.

“What is going on here?” he asked coolly, and Taverner frowned.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, I thought I heard a strange noise coming from your room, and when I come down to check, I found my drudge up here, going through your packs. He hasn’t stolen anything, sir, I checked. It won’t happen again, you have my word…”

“It’s as well you’re here, actually, Taverner.” He forced himself not to pull Taverner off and away from Merlin, keeping his voice light and cool when he wanted to shout. “I want to buy your servant’s indenture off you.”

Taverner frowned. “Why, my lord?”

“You know the reason for my quest?” he asked idly, and Taverner nodded, still frowning.

“Heard last night, sir, but – what good can he do you?” he gave Merlin another little shake just to indicate who he was talking about, and Arthur gritted his teeth once more, but forced himself to remain calm and pleasant.

“I believe he may have some useful information for me,” he said slowly. “And I will need some help on my travels. He’ll come in useful.”

“Frankly, my lord, I can get more use out of him than you-” Taverner began, and Arthur cut him off.

“He may have some clues as to the whereabouts of the man I’m looking for.”

“The sorcerer, Merlin.” Taverner’s voice was rather flat.

“Indeed-”

“My lord, he’d say anything for a bit of attention, on my life. You’ll do better looking elsewhere for help, he don't know anything of Merlin, no more 'n I do, and a good deal less about everything else, if I'm honest with your lordship.” Taverner was eyeing him in a way that said he was questioning Arthur's sanity as much as he questioned Merlin's.

Arthur had to clench his fists to keep himself from losing his temper, and when he spoke up again, his voice was far too level. “If you want to answer to Prince Arthur himself for hindering me in my quest, so be it. But I suggest you sell me his indenture and save yourself a little trouble.”

Taverner chuckled, but it was rather uncertain. “His royal highness wouldn’t bother himself with my drudge,” he said slowly, but Arthur was already shaking his head.

“I assure you he would if he thought it would lead him to Merlin,” he said, his voice now very cold, and took a certain satisfaction the way Taverner paled. “And out of the two of us, who knows Prince Arthur better?”

There was a faint glimmer of amusement in Merlin’s eyes, but he held his tongue while Taverner thought it over. After a minute or so, the man shoved Merlin away from him, and turned back to Arthur, a sour look on his face. “Two sovereigns, my lord,” he said grimly, "and you’re welcome to him.”

“I thought you’d see sense,” Arthur said pleasantly, pulling two sovereigns out of his belt purse. “One now, and one when you give me his indenture papers," he said firmly, handing over one of the coins. Taverner bit it and pocketed it, making to leave. “I'm leaving for Glenburn immediately, so shall we say another sovereign for board and lodging?” Arthur asked as Taverner opened the door.

“That should cover it, my lord.” The man agreed, rather sullenly. “I’ll get those papers for you now.” He was about to close the door, when Arthur called after him.

“Taverner – if you have his indenture papers, why don’t you know his name?”

Taverner gave him a look of frank surprise. “Do I look like one of those scholarly types, my lord?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “I can’t read anymore’n he can speak sense.”

Arthur nodded, and shut the door. Both he and Merlin stood in silence until they heard the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs – then Arthur gave Merlin an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he started, but Merlin was already shaking it off.

“Don’t be ridiculous, " he said calmly.

“Was it often like that?” Arthur asked quietly; Merlin looked rather awkward. Finally, he just shrugged.

"He thought I was a half-wit, and I never gave him reason to think otherwise," he said slowly. "But believe it or not, he's not a bad sort. He likes to shout and he's a bit of a bully when he's drunk, but he never starved or beat me, and he never let the rest of the village hurt me." He shrugged again.

"You have terrifyingly low standards for decency," Arthur told him dryly, and flung the clean clothes at him. "Put those on. My scarecrows are better dressed than you."

Merlin chucked them back at him. "Don't be ridiculous," he retorted. "I can't put clean clothes on just for the journey to Glenburn, the whole village'll think you're mad. Besides," he added fairly, "there's no point getting them dirty right before getting clean again."

"You're right," Arthur said wonderingly. "Are you _sure_ nothing got knocked loose up there?"

Merlin smiled a little. "If you'd ever actually bothered to listen to me when I was your manservant, you'd know I'm very often right," he said, with an expression of saintly forbearing, and Arthur snorted.

"You're very often _annoying_ ," he told him, and Merlin grinned at him.

Arthur held his eyes for just a second too long, then looked away, clearing his own throat awkwardly and stuffing the clothes into his bag before pulling one item free again. “We’ll find something which fits better in – Glenburn, was it?” 

"That's the nearest town," Merlin nodded. "You must have ridden through it to get to Rainsford."

"Yes. Yes, I did, of course. We'll find you something better to wear there - you're-" he'd been about to say 'thinner than you were', but he changed his mind at the last moment. "You're not the same as you were." He coughed awkwardly. "But I- I brought you this. For when I found you." Dumbly, he held out Merlin's old blue neckerchief, and Merlin frowned for a second before laughing delightedly.

"My gods," he said, taking it from Arthur, weaving the rough-woven cloth through his fingers. It was, Arthur knew, soft with age and comfortingly familiar - comfortingly _Merlin_. "Did Gaius keep them for all this time?"

"Your things are in my chambers for sake-keeping," Arthur said stiffly, awkward now, "but yes. Gaius kept everything of yours until you could come back - including a particular book?"

"Gods above, the book," Merlin breathed. "How did Gaius explain that one?"

"He gave it to me before your room could be searched," Arthur told him, unable to meet his eyes. "At that point I was so angry, I nearly burnt it, but - but it's waiting for you now."

Merlin held his hand out, and Arthur clasped it tightly. "Thank you," Merlin told him, every syllable sincere. "I never hoped - _thank_ you. For that, and for keeping Gaius safe."

"That's the very least of the things I would do for you," Arthur told him, a little choked, and embarrassed by it. Suddenly, the urge to touch Merlin – really touch him, not shake him or take his hand, but to map the contours of his face, to make sure he was really there, after five years away – was ridiculously strong. He let go of Merlin's hand and locked his own behind his back, nodding. “Anyway. Yes. We - We'll find something better for you in the town. I should think we'll stop in Glenburn for a few days - get our bearings and so on - then we'll head back to Camelot." He glanced round the room, and let his hand drift to his sword-hilt, running through the now-routine mental checklist of his belongings before nodding. "Everything's ready. I'll go down and pay Taverner - you bring the bags round. Alright?" Merlin nodded. "How long will it take us to reach Glenburn?"

“Four or five hours,” Merlin shrugged, shouldering the saddle-bags. “Suddenly, I’m looking forward to getting out of this place,” he added, with a smile that made Arthur's heart skip a beat, even as he smiled back. “I’m glad you came,” he said quietly, and Arthur nodded, his throat tight.

“I’m just glad I found you,” he said, and turned away. “I think that’s everything," he said loudly, trying (and probably failing) to mask how badly the whole situation had affected him. “Come on.”

Taverner was waiting for them in the taproom, still looking rather sullen, holding a bundle of papers which he thrust at Arthur without ceremony. “My sovereigns," he said bluntly, and Arthur dutifully handed two over.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said pleasantly. “Where is my horse?”

“Out the back, sir.”

“David.” He turned to Merlin and plastered a suitably patronising expression on his face. “Go and get my horse. My horse, d’you understand?” Merlin’s eyes were brimming with laughter, but his mouth was slack and stupid. “Horsie, David.” Finally, the mouth twitched a little.

“A smack’ll get it across fast enough,” Taverner said quietly, and Arthur forced himself to shrug carelessly.

“I want him to help me. Until I’ve learnt everything I need to know from him, I don’t want him frightened of me. David, get my horse. _Horse_ , David.”

Merlin nodded, slowly. “Horse," he repeated, and turned mechanically to the back. “Horsie.”

Arthur would have laughed, but it was all too obvious how well Merlin had been able to convince everyone he was an idiot for the past couple of years. “Good boy," he nodded, and turned back to the older man. “Thank you again for your help. I’ll be sure to tell Prince Arthur how useful Rainsford was.”

“Thank you, my lord.” But Taverner’s expression was still rather sullen. “You know…” he said slowly. “He’s not an interesting boy, that one, my lord. Pretty enough under all that, but skinny as a rake, and fights too much for it to be any fun, so I'm told. If you get my drift.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment in confusion. “No, I don’t think I do," he said slowly. “Explain.”

Taverner flushed dully, but endeavoured to make his point a little clearer. “He’s not a servant you can – bed, my lord, not like one of your serving girls back at Camelot, he’s too - too vicious for it. Thought I'd warn you. And," his voice dropped to a mumble, "maybe spare him the effort."

Arthur’s stare this time was pure horror. “I don’t want to bed him!” he said, revolted. It was technically a lie, since the thought had crossed his mind more than once before Merlin had left – but he wanted nothing like what Taverner was implying.

Taverner’s flush didn’t fade, and he wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes, but he simply shrugged. “How would I know?” he asked defensively. “You taking such an interest in him? I’ve seen people like you come through here before, on their way to a port or from a merchant caravan just passing through, take an interest in him, then pass him up when he doesn’t go down easy." He stared fixedly at the ground. "S'not right," he muttered, very fast. "Trying to take advantage of a boy like him. He doesn't understand what they're asking, does he? But I couldn't be everywhere at once."

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Arthur felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He might, as Merlin said, be a petty tyrant when he was drunk, and sullen to boot, but he'd clearly tried to do his best by 'David'. "Put your mind at rest," he said firmly. "I have no interest in him of that kind.” Tentatively, worried that it might be the wrong thing to do, he patted Taverner's shoulder. "You did your best by him, sir," he said. "Thank you for that."

He turned away without waiting for a reply - he wasn't entirely sure that Taverner would take kindly to it, or whether he'd overstepped the line between reassuring and patronising. Still, Merlin was waiting out at the front with his horse, and they had a lot of ground to cover today. Arthur passed him in silence, taking the reigns from him and mounting up without a word, pulling Merlin up behind him.

It was time to put Rainsford behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

For about half an hour, they rode in silence, until Rainsford was well behind them, then Arthur spoke up.

“You didn’t mention that people had tried to – violate you.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘rape’ but from the way Merlin stiffened behind him he heard the unspoken word anyway.

“What?” he asked, trying for casualness.

“Taverner told me. Said I should think twice about damn well buying you off him because you weren’t an easy tumble.” Arthur’s voice was bitter with anger.

Merlin shrugged, and was silent for so long that Arthur began to think he wasn't going to say anything. “People tried," he said finally, very carefully. “Taverner did his best to - to dissuade them. And none of them succeeded. I’m a warlock, Arthur, even if I was damn good at hiding it. Even those I couldn’t fight off didn’t manage anything.”

“It shouldn’t happen,” Arthur said, low and intense.

“But it does,” Merlin said wearily. “You know full well it does. How many chambermaids and stable-boys have you had?”

Arthur reined the horse in, insulted beyond words. “ _Never_ against their will!” He snapped and Merlin sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry. That was unkind.”

Somewhat mollified, Arthur nudged the horse back into a slow walk. “When we’re back in Camelot, it’s one of the things I’m going to change,” he said quietly, “and no one will have to worry about speaking up. And I’m going to make sure you never get hurt.”

“You’ll be a little busy being King, Arthur.” Merlin pointed out dryly. “I really don’t need protection, especially not if I can use magic openly. I wasn’t lying all those years ago when I said I could take you apart with less than one blow.” He paused. “But thank you.”

Arthur chuckled against his own will. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about you so much – not with all your magic. But there are others who don't have your - your protection, in that respect. Those laws need to be dealt with."

"It's not the law that's at fault," Merlin told him. "Did you know that? The law prohibits the 'wrongful use' of servants and thralls. It's people's attitudes you have to change. Like you said, they're worried about speaking up - and they get accused of making it up, or leading their masters on. The law isn't the problem, it's the people."

"There have to be truth-spells," Arthur mused, half-question, half-statement. "No one'd be able to pretend their servant is lying if a mage were to testify to the servant's truthfulness."

"You'll have to find a very conservative mage," Merlin pointed out thoughtfully. "One who no one could say is biased or using the spell to make it _look_ like they're telling the truth."

"We'll work something out," Arthur said, inexplicably cheered by having something concrete to focus on. They rode in silence for another mile or so, before Merlin broke the silence.

“You're so comfortable with the idea of magic, now. How did you react? When you found out – about me?” he asked curiously.

“None of us knew it was Nimueh at first,” Arthur said, just a little uncomfortable. “I couldn’t believe you would – betray me like that.” Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder for a moment, evidently the only comfort he felt he could give, so many years after the fact. Arthur paused, thinking back. “I was – angry. With you, of course, and with myself for getting caught out like that. I’d been told so many times that all people wanted from me was what I could give them, and we’d been – friends.”

“Yes,” Merlin said firmly. “I wouldn’t - I understand why you felt like that, but Arthur, I would never-”

“I know that now,” Arthur said quickly. “At the time, things were different. We were different then.”

“But you understood, afterwards? You knew why I didn’t say anything?”

Arthur’s laugh was a little forced, grating. “Not at the time. It was only when I calmed down and thought back that I realized I’d given you no reason to trust me with it; I’d never even hinted I wouldn’t have you killed for sorcery. Even then I couldn’t believe you hadn’t trusted me.”

“Does it help to know that I wanted to?”

“I already know that now. I didn’t then. I didn’t know a lot of things back then. When you left, after everything that had come to light,” Arthur gathered the reins into one hand, rubbing at his eyes with gloved fingers, “it took a long time for things to come back into perspective. Everything had been thrown up into the air and it took months for them to settle back. When they did, the landscape had changed.”

Merlin seemed to be considering that. “I wanted to trust you,” he repeated quietly, “but when we went back to Ealdor, after I’d first come to Camelot, you were so angry when you thought Will had used magic. I assumed-”

“That that was how I would react,” Arthur said heavily. Merlin’s silence was agreement enough. “That was four years earlier, Merlin. And I didn’t know then that it was you, I was told it was William – and it was better to believe that than the alternative.” Arthur smiled to himself. “Neither of us had liked the other and then he died for me. I was guilty and off-balance and it made me angry. I wouldn’t have taken it like that if you’d told me before everything – came out like that.” Another brief silence. “What was it like for you, when you first left?”

“Difficult.” Merlin said, shortly, and said nothing more; clearly, he wasn't willing to talk about it just yet. Arthur was willing to give him time; he was, he admitted to himself, willing to give Merlin a great deal.

"To be honest," he said, when it became clear that Merlin wasn't going to elaborate, and wanting to make sure things were completely clear between them, "it was Morgana who helped me over my - fear, I suppose, and misunderstanding of magic."

"Morgana?" Merlin said, surprised.

"Mm. We - I knew she didn't get on with my father," he shifted a little, uncomfortable remembering how tense things had been between Uther and Morgana towards the end, and uncomfortable remembering just how little he'd been able to help. "And I was trying to - to understand. Why you'd kept things from me, and what had happened, _how_ it happened. I don't remember what I said, but suddenly we were fighting about it every chance we got - she was on your side, of course. And eventually - gods above, I don't know how it happened, but I admitted it wasn't the magic I was upset about, but you keeping it a secret." Merlin nodded against Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur smiled a little. "And she turned round and asked me how, if I wasn't upset about the magic when you tried to kill me with it, I could let my father execute hedge-witches for headache potions.

"We spent months going through the rules of magic with Gaius - I think I read everything I could get my hands on about magic, all the crackpot ideas and stupid theories ever written. I even read your book, though I didn't understand a word of it-"

"Did you just look at the pictures?" Merlin asked with mock-sympathy, and Arthur laughed, letting Merlin lighten the mood.

"Pretty much," he admitted freely, and laughed again, remembering a time when he'd have shoved Merlin off the horse for far lesser infractions. "But I read everything I could find about magic, and we started getting nobles on-side. None of the Council, they were all too stuck in their ways, but as many of the nobles as we could. Between us, Morgana and I bribed, bullied and bargained with half of Camelot to get support for repealing the anti-magic laws." He paused, flinching a little as he reached the darker part of the tale. The early days of their political rebellion had been exciting, always spiced with the knowledge that this was what would help bring Merlin back. But, as with most of the really good things in Arthur's life, that couldn't have lasted long with Uther around. "But it wasn't - it wasn't just politics for Morgana," he went on, painfully. "She was accused of witchcraft, and..." he trailed off. "I helped her escape," he said finally. "I think it's probably the only thing my father was ever grateful to me for doing. He loved her so much; he hated magic more."

Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur for just a second before saying anything. "He was your father," he said quietly, "and you loved him. But you will be a far better King than him, and you are a far better man." Arthur shut his eyes for a brief moment, unable to speak, and Merlin, perceptive as ever, changed the subject. “So, what else has changed in Camelot since I was last there?” he asked lightly, and Arthur seized on the topic eagerly.

“Well, they’ve finally finished building the baths…”

They filled the long ride back down to Glenburn with idle conversation, both of them keeping well away from either of the serious subjects – they’d had their fill of them for the moment. The serious things, the talks they needed to have, the healing both of them needed to do, could come later. For once, neither of them wanted to rush things. If they had learnt anything over the last five years apart, it was patience. For the time being it was enough to be together again, re-learning each other and getting used to the kind of easy companionship they found with each other.

Arthur had been in Glenburn only the week before, but had taken a much longer, more circuitous route to Rainsford, passing through as many villages as he could find on the way. He had, he told Merlin easily, been on the road for nearly a month now, as had his knights; the search had been widespread. If he'd been able to see Merlin, he would have seen the embarrassed flush which spread high across his cheekbones at that.

He’d been through every town and village he knew of and some he didn’t, meeting as many of the young men as possible, hoping to come across his old servant or someone who knew more of him than the common rumours.

“Really,” he pointed out lazily, “I should have realised you’d be as far away from Camelot as possible.”

“I could have been trying to hide in plain sight,” Merlin suggested, but Arthur shook his head.

“No, Merlin, I don’t think so. You’re an idiot, but you’re not that bad.”

“Well, aren’t you just a charmer?” Merlin retorted. “The years haven’t made you any nicer, I see.”

Arthur just laughed in response; he’d missed their easy back-and-forth exchanges. Since Merlin had been banished, the only person who dared to speak to him like that was Morgana, and it hadn't been quite the same.

Glenburn had been like every other provincial town Arthur had been through in the last few weeks, and unsurprisingly nothing had changed in the week since he’d passed through it. He took them to what he had heard was the best inn in the town; he hadn’t stayed there before because he knew from painful experience that the obviously privileged received nothing but jealousy and evasions, and he couldn’t risk losing a vital lead for his own comfort. Now his quest was over there was no reason to stint himself, and he was willing to bet that Merlin hadn’t had a comfortable bed since he’d been thrown out of Camelot with nothing.

He was surprised to feel Merlin pulling back away from him as they neared the outskirts of the town, taking care to sit back, effectively disassociating himself from Arthur.

“Who do you want me to be?” he asked, very softly.

Arthur half turned his head. “What?” he asked, confused.

“Am I your servant, a peasant you were helping…?”

“You’re my _friend_ ,” Arthur stressed, annoyance layered thick in his voice. “Like I’ve been saying, Merlin.”

“Arthur, have a little common sense,” Merlin retorted, sounding almost sharp. “No one’s going to believe I’m a friend of yours.”

“Things are going to start changing in Albion,” Arthur said grimly. “And in the meantime, while I’m paying them, they’ll believe whatever I damn well tell them to. If anyone makes any comment, I’ll deal with it.”

Merlin’s only response was silence, but his disbelief was evident from the way he refused to move forward again, preferring instead to hold on to the saddle as they rode through the town.

When they reached the inn, Arthur went to help Merlin down off the horse without thinking, only to find the Merlin gave him a Look and slid lightly to the ground himself. Arthur refused to flush. Future kings didn’t flush.

Instead, he busied himself with removing the two saddle bags which had been making Merlin’s journey uncomfortable for the past few hours – so uncomfortable he'd actually opted to get down and walk for at intervals, ostensibly to ‘save the horse’. When that was done, he turned back to the stable yard.

“Hi, you.” He flicked a small coin at one of the stable boys. “Take my horse, rub him down, and feed him. And I’ll know if you stint him.”

“Yes, master.” The boy, no more than ten, sketched a rough bow and led the horse away. Arthur watched for a moment, making sure everything seemed to be in order, before turning back to Merlin.

“Shall we?” He gestured to the inn door.

“Thank you.” If Merlin’s expression was just a little wry, Arthur chose to ignore it.

He was more than a little taken aback when the innkeeper gave Merlin a filthy glare. “What do you want?” the man asked him, peremptorily, “If you’re here for alms, it’s round the back, I won’t have begging in my taproom!”

Merlin gave Arthur a speaking look, and Arthur frowned back at the innkeeper. “He’s with me,” he told him firmly, and the man frowned back at him in confusion.

“What, my lord?” He asked, with a frown. “I – this fellow? With you?”

“Yes,” Arthur said shortly. “And I want to bespeak one of your rooms – and a bath for my friend. As soon as possible.”

“A-a room?”

“You are an inn, aren’t you?” Arthur asked sharply. “Do you have a room free or not?”

“Er, yes, sir. Sorry, my lord, I was, um, wool-gathering.” With one last harried glance at Merlin, he hurried to fetch a book. “We have a fine room available for your lordship, and your servant can sleep with-”

“No,” Arthur overrode him, flatly. “One room, two beds.”

“But, my lord…”

“Trust me, sir, I understand very well what I want.”

“Of- of course you do, sir. Then we have a very quiet room at the back of the inn, perfect for you and your…” he waited for a cue from Arthur, and, on receiving none, chose the path of least potential offence. “Friend.”

“Indeed.” Arthur turned away, and the innkeeper scurried to lead them up to the room. It was only once he had gained Arthur’s approval of the room – Merlin wouldn’t have dared make any criticisms at that point – did he take the opportunity to make hastily for the door, only to be stopped by Arthur’s voice, at its most authoritative. “Send a bath up to us, would you? And some food. And send for a tailor.”

“A bath, food, and a tailor. Of course, my lord. Will that be everything?”

“For the moment. Thank you for your help.” Arthur’s smile was polite, but cool, and the innkeeper finally made good his escape.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin collapsed onto one of the beds with a blissful sigh, and looked content to lie there for the rest of the day, until Arthur threw his cloak half-over him.

“Hey, don’t get too comfortable, your bath will be here any minute.”

Merlin sat up with a groan and a wince. “You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?” he sniped, but didn’t lie back down again. “And do I get soap with this bath?”

“If you don’t, I’ll send them for some,” Arthur promised, but he needn’t have bothered. When the tub and the buckets of hot water arrived, two big towels came with it and a large cake of soap. The expression on Merlin’s face was a mere step away from ecstasy, and Arthur found himself unable to look for long; it felt almost voyeuristic to watch, more intimate than if he had been watching his friend strip for the bath. This was an emotional nakedness, and he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for that yet.

“I’ve got – documents – I need to read over,” he said, and it was only half a lie. “I’ll be over here. Facing this way. You can bathe in peace.”

However much he didn’t look, though, he could still hear, and he listened to the sounds of Merlin shucking out of his clothes, slipping into the large tub, which had seemed enormous compared to his friend’s slight frame even while Merlin was dressed. Occasional splashes were enough to peak Arthur’s curiosity, and despite promising himself that he wouldn’t, he found himself turning round to look.

“What in the Gods’ names are those?” It slipped out before he could stop it, and Merlin sent a sheet of water over the floor as he jumped, turning round and stretching the white scar tissue lumped across his back.

“What?” he asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Your _back_ ,” Arthur said, frowning darkly, and he couldn’t seem to smooth his expression out into something a little less accusatory.

Merlin’s own expression was very gentle. “Arthur, you saw me get flogged.” He shrugged. “It didn’t heal properly.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Do _your_ old scars hurt?” Merlin returned, as though that settled it, as though Arthur had never seen conversational evasion before, and turned back round.

“Sometimes, yes,” Arthur told him deliberately. “As you know well enough.”

Merlin sighed. “These don’t,” he said firmly. “They don’t, alright?” He repeated when Arthur gave him a long look. “It took them a while to – to calm, but they’re _fine_ , Arthur. _I’m_ fine. Now that I’m coming back to Camelot, I’m grateful not to be – back in Rainsford. But there’s nothing wrong with me. No evil for you to beat up on my behalf.”

Arthur sighed. “I wish I believed that, Merlin.”

“If you don’t, it’s certainly not my fault,” Merlin told him, his voice hovering over the edge of being sharp despite the fact that he looked incredibly relaxed, splayed out in the tub, arms resting on the side, head tipped back. “I’ve never given you any reason to think I want my honour defended.”

Arthur paused, wanting some reason to revenge his friend, then sighed. “So long as you know now that it’s not acceptable for _anyone_ to hurt you,” he relented, and Merlin chuckled.

“I’ve always known it wasn’t acceptable for anyone to hurt me. But there wasn't always anything I could do about it.”

“Now Camelot is my kingdom,” Arthur began, looking down at the proposed laws he was supposed to be reading so he wouldn’t have to look at Merlin, “I’m changing the laws. If – if someone defends themselves against a noble, they’ll be listened to, I won’t let people assume the right always lies with the best blood. If servants say that nobles have hurt them, they’ll be believed, not dismissed out of hand. At least, they’ll be believed unless there’s proof of falsehood. Those truth-charms we talked about will help, if we can find a way to implement them.”

“And if you catch hedgewitches giving out charms against pregnancy? If peasants want to become knights?” Merlin asked, turning in his bath again to look at Arthur, the high back of the tub hiding everything but his head. “What then?”

“The people giving out charms against pregnancy will have to reimburse their customers, you know better than me that those don’t work,” Arthur pointed out, practicality in every nuance, just to make Merlin smile – which he did, though not as brightly as Arthur remembered. “If peasants want to become knights...” he trailed off. “I was never the one with a problem over that,” he said finally, almost appealing to Merlin, who nodded thoughtfully. “They’ll have to prove themselves just like everyone else, but – noblemen’s sons can’t always fight, and Lancelot’s proven that peasants can. After the war with – after the war, we’d be stupid to bar good men because of an accident of birth.”

Merlin glanced up. “We only got the vaguest reports of war in Rainsford,” he said quietly. “What happened?”

Arthur looked away and shrugged. “Maldren’s kingdom took offence,” he said quietly. “My father-” he stopped and thought for one long moment. “I have a lot of bridges to rebuild,” he said simply. “My father left me with a country which desperately needs piecing back together.”

“The magic laws.”

“In part,” Arthur agreed. “He became – unstable as he got older. His paranoia over magic spread to other things, especially after – especially after Morgana fled.”

Merlin paused. "Have you - is she...?" he trailed off.

“She’s back," Arthur said quickly. "Unlike _some people_ , she had the sense to return when my father died.” The words were said without heat. “But when she fled, my father’s mind... unravelled. Somewhat.”

“She was very dear to him.”

Arthur nodded. “She was indeed. And he took her betrayal hard. So hard it nearly tore Camelot apart. Every lonely old woman was a witch, every suspicious man a warlock – anyone who dared so much as predict the weather was a seer. When he fell ill and I became his Regent, I was able to veto all the executions, and before then I had been able to save some prisoners, but – never enough. One of the women father imprisoned – I thank all the Gods she was never executed, believe me – was a minor noblewoman in Maldren’s kingdom, and he took offence.”

Merlin looked at Arthur for a long moment, and Arthur studiously avoided his gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry. It must have been – awful.”

Arthur kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. “It was bad,” he agreed, “but only a matter of time.” Uther had been dead for nearly two months now, but speaking about him like this, about the policy which had always been so dear to his heart, still felt like a betrayal, even though Arthur had been working against it for years. “Maldren always favoured magic, I knew he always hated Father’s policy. With my father’s mind weakened, before I could make Camelot’s new stance on magic clear, it was never going to be long before he decided to make his move.”

Merlin nodded, looking down into the water for a silent moment. “Tell me the bad things,” he said finally. “Why did you come looking for me now?”

Arthur felt a little breathless at that. “I didn’t – Gods, Merlin, I didn’t come looking for you just so you could solve my problems!”

“But you did in part,” Merlin pointed out. “And I don’t _mind_ , Arthur. I _like_ helping you solve your problems. So tell me. What do you need?”

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. “We won, in the end, but it has cost us,” he said quietly, looking up at Merlin, and risking a rather weak smile. “I can admit to you, it has cost us.” The admission came easier than he’d ever thought possible. “The harvest was too late; we’ll survive this winter, but we need the Gods on our side for this coming year; I’m going to have to half-beggar us to get us the grain we need as it is. I’ve lost nearly a third of our knights, our defences are low, and Camelot’s trade has never been so weak.”

Merlin scrubbed at himself with the rough soap for a moment or two before speaking. “We’ll sort it,” he said simply.

Arthur straightened, taking courage from Merlin’s easy assurance, and nodded. “We will,” he agreed. “Now that I’ve found you.”Merlin grinned, and for a brief second it was as though they were back at Camelot in the days before everything changed. Then Arthur smiled back and broke the illusion. “You’re right: I didn’t come and get you for – for purely philanthropic reasons. I wanted you back,” _I have wanted you back since the day you left_ , he admitted to himself, safe in the privacy of his mind, though Merlin looked as though he might have heard, “but I couldn’t have come myself without – all my other concerns.”

“And what are they?” Merlin asked, giving Arthur an out by not looking at him, focusing intently on scrubbing out the dirt from under his fingernails. “What do you need from me?”

“I need to prove to Maldren that Camelot is friendly to magic. His kingdom was defeated, but not weakened as Camelot was. If he attacks again, things will not go well for us. And you can help with the harvest, can’t you? And our defences?”

Merlin was silent for such a long time that Arthur began to feel nerves creeping up into his throat, choking him. He had gambled on Merlin, and if Merlin couldn’t pull through for them – but then Merlin spoke. “It’s been a while,” he said quietly, “but I think I can do all that and more.”

Arthur sagged with relief. “Even though we chased you out?”

Merlin’s smile was brighter and kinder than Arthur felt he deserved. “Uther chased me out,” he said easily, with the same easy forgiveness that Arthur remembered and had clung onto for so long. “Not you. There’s a lot I’d do for you, Arthur.”

There was a lot Merlin already had done for Arthur, the way Morgana told it, he thought, but found he couldn’t say it. He could only smile back and hope that Merlin knew what he was thinking.

“Wash fast,” he advised gruffly, looking away and trying not to feel awkward, “and I’ll give you one of my nightshirts to wear until the tailor arrives. Your clothes are going to be _burnt_. Food should be arriving soon.”

Merlin’s look, as he turned away, was comfortingly knowing.

**

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was out of the bath and swamped in one of Arthur’s nightshirts, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck, finally clean again and clearly rather enjoying it. He settled on the bed next to Arthur’s and stretched his legs out, glancing at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes.

Arthur, who had been trying not to look at him – he was pretty sure he could count every one of Merlin’s ribs, and the last thing he needed to do was get angry now – stared down at the reports he was supposed to be reading. “I don’t know whether the tailor will arrive before the food,” he said, just for something to say, and Merlin shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, but was given away by his stomach rumbling loudly. He flushed a little, looking briefly sheepish. “It doesn’t matter _much_ ,” he corrected himself, and Arthur didn’t know whether to smile or not. Merlin was so skinny, now – regular meals had so clearly been a thing of the past – it felt wrong, like sharing a joke he wasn’t sure was funny.

“Not long,” he said finally, but Merlin had caught the pause.

“What’s up?” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard, not looking at Arthur. Briefly, Arthur missed the easy camaraderie of the days before Merlin’s uncovering as a sorcerer, but then remembered that Merlin had been keeping a secret which kept him in constant fear for his life.

The whole thing was confusing, so Arthur just shrugged. “Gwen will be feeding you up the moment she sees you,” he said, aiming to sound as easy as Merlin had. He could tell he’d failed dismally, but Merlin let it pass.

“Food wasn’t really a priority,” he admitted, then paused for a moment. “Don’t get some picture in your head of me starving in the streets,” he added quickly. “I managed alright.”

Arthur thought of Merlin, on his knees in front of him in an inn barely more than a hut, covered in grime, and nodded, a little grimly. “I’m sure you did,” he said, and met the sharp look Merlin sent his way blandly.

“It doesn’t sound as though you were having much fun, either,” Merlin pointed out tartly, and Arthur shrugged. He was Crown Prince; even if everyone else was starving, he was the last one to feel the restrictions. It was infinitely easier to be king, and to be expected to show an example of cheerfulness in the face of deprivation – at least then he had to partake in deprivation as well, in some measure. Arthur couldn’t feel easy eating when his people were starving: he much preferred being expected to starve and smile than to eat and make believe that he understood his people’s suffering. Misunderstanding his silence, Merlin sighed. “Look, Arthur, it sounds like we’ve got busy work waiting for us in Camelot,” he said firmly. “And I’d rather make sure I’m ready for the future than dwell endlessly on the past, alright?”

It was a sensible policy, Arthur knew, but the problem wasn’t _Merlin_ dwelling on the past – it was Arthur being unable to forget everything Merlin had gone through since he’d left Camelot. It would probably be years before he could admit it to Merlin (if he ever could), but he had always known that a large part of his desire to reform the magic laws rested on his desire to have Merlin with him again. In the years since Merlin’s banishment, a long, silent battle had been fought in Arthur’s mind, between Merlin and Uther, and after a seemingly endless struggle, Merlin had won.

For the moment, though, he just smiled. “Very sensible,” he said lightly, just the right amount of sarcasm in his voice to have Merlin rolling his eyes at him and smiling.

“How long are we staying in Glenburn?” Merlin asked lazily, reaching out and stealing one of Arthur’s reports, glancing over it with a casual assurance that Arthur rather liked.

“As long as needs be,” Arthur said, and shrugged when Merlin shot him a sharp look. “You can scry for us, can’t you? If I need to get an urgent message back to Camelot. And Morgana can reach us if we’re needed. We don’t need to ride night and day to be back as quickly as possible.”

“What’s keeping us in Glenburn?” Merlin asked, keeping his eyes on Arthur.

“You,” Arthur said bluntly. “You’re to be my advisor, you’ll ride into Camelot with me looking like it.”

“So you’re going to dress me like a noble and expect me not to look as though I’ve stolen my master’s clothes,” Merlin said, every word dripping with scepticism.

Arthur glared at him. “This country hears ‘Merlin’, and imagines a ten foot giant,” he said tartly. “I could dress you as my court jester and you’d still be taken seriously.”

“If you ask the tailor to make me a jester’s uniform, I will walk back to Rainsford, I give you fair warning,” Merlin told him, grinning, and Arthur chuckled.

“That was option two,” he said seriously, just to keep the grin on Merlin’s face a little longer. “Honestly, though. It’s a status thing; you’re to be my court sorcerer, you have to look the part. People expect pageantry from us, and you have to wear the costume they expect to see, or they won’t believe you’re playing the right part.”

Merlin stretched out on the bed, Arthur’s report still in his hand, and Arthur looked away so he didn’t see the stretch of pale skin as Merlin moved. “I’ll play your part,” he said, with the air of one conferring a favour, and Arthur snorted. “I’ll even try and do it well. But we need to have a long talk about what’s expected of me before I go any further.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You want me to be the shining figurehead of your new acceptance of magic; you want me to shore up Albion’s defences; you want me to help with the harvest.” Merlin ticked each point off on his fingers. “But what about politics?”

“What about politics?” Arthur returned. “I’m not asking you to get involved with politics, Merlin, I’m asking you to be my right arm.”

“And I’m flattered by that, really,” Merlin said, sarcasm thick in his tone. “But your right arm is as political as the rest of you. You have to balance up everything you do, weighing every rival faction and opinion.”

“And I’ll continue to do that,” Arthur told him firmly. “I need you to be my sorcerer, not another politician.”

“I’ll be a political figure whether or not you or I want me to be,” Merlin pointed out, and Arthur sighed, because it was nothing more than the truth.

“Alright,” he said tiredly. “But we’ll have to deal with it on a case-by-case basis. We’ll talk it over each time.”

“You’ll be a little busy, don’t you think?” Merlin said lightly, but Arthur wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“Merlin, I had my kingdom searched for you,” he said. “I’ll always make time for you.”

For a moment, Merlin looked horribly, painfully vulnerable, and Arthur wanted to a list of names of all the people who’d hurt him and led to this moment, this moment where he, Arthur, was faced with the one person he’d always been sure of, who looked so unsure.

Then, however, Merlin was smiling, just a little, and brought a hand up over his heart. “I’m touched,” he said sweetly, and Arthur’s laugh was only a little forced.

“So you should be,” he said, “I’m very important, you know.”

“I’ve only got your word for it,” Merlin shot back, but he was grinning.

Before Arthur could reply, they were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. “Come,” Arthur called, and noticed Merlin straightening up out of his sprawl automatically, looking awkward and ill-at-ease. Arthur stood too, copying Merlin’s stance to draw attention away from his – advisor? ‘Friend’ seemed simpler – and he met the landlord’s glance, so the man wouldn’t look over at Merlin and start making any further judgements.

“Your supper, my lord,” the man said, bowing awkwardly over the tray he himself had brought up to what was clearly his most important guest.

“On the table,” Arthur said imperiously, and the man bowed again, shuffling around the bathtub to the long oak table under the window. “Have someone come and take this away,” he added, waving a hand at the tub. The landlord flickered a glance at Merlin, who was drowning in Arthur’s clothes, and nodded quickly when Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“Of course, my lord,” he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, and Arthur relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said and flicked a coin at him, “for all your trouble.”

“No trouble, my lord,” the man said quickly, but made good his escape as fast as possible.

When Arthur glanced at Merlin, he was grinning.

“I think you broke him,” he said mischievously, and Arthur shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I’d forgotten what it was like when you’re giving orders like that.”

“You don’t have to deal with them anymore,” Arthur said awkwardly, and Merlin laughed.

“Some poor sod does, though,” he said lightly, already making his way over to the table, surveying the food the landlord had brought up to them and giving an admirable impression that he wasn’t starving hungry.

“Good efficient men, who know how the crown prince and the king ought to be treated,” Arthur told him superciliously.

“How many did you chase away by being impossible?” Merlin wanted to know, helping himself to soup and bread.

“Seven,” Arthur admitted, breaking some bread off for himself and keeping an eye on Merlin’s bowl.

“Admirable restraint,” Merlin commented, spooning up the soup as though he’d never seen its equal.

“I thought so,” Arthur agreed. “I didn’t need them the way-” _the way I needed you_ , he’d been about to say, but couldn’t quite manage to get the words out. “The way they were,” he finished lamely.

“But no holes in your boots,” Merlin said, grinning. “No rats in your chambers, everything neat and tidy-”

“And boring,” Arthur said before he could stop himself. He could feel himself flushing when Merlin looked up at him, and he sighed. “I didn’t realise how much I needed friends until you went,” he said heavily. “And Morgana and Guinevere tried, bless them, but it wasn’t much of a substitute. Lancelot was travelling – Gwaine refused the knighthood I offered him-”

“Gwaine?” Merlin said, confused, and Arthur nodded.

“You’ll meet him. You might even like him,” he said with a tired smile. “Most people don’t, but you’ve never been most people.”

“He can’t be worse than Kay,” Merlin said darkly. Kay and Merlin had never got on, but then Kay didn’t get on with anyone at all. “Tell me you didn’t bow to Sir Ector and make him seneschal.”

“Of course I didn’t, why would I?” Arthur scoffed. “I want the household to run smoothly, not be disrupted by Kay upsetting the scullery maids every other day. No, Bedivere is the seneschal.”

Merlin nodded. “And- Gaius?”

“Gaius has retired, after training his replacement,” Arthur said. “He still lives with the household, but – he’s very frail, Merlin. He must be nearly eighty now.”

“But he is still alive,” Merlin said firmly, clearly clinging onto that thought. “Who is his replacement?”

“Guinevere,” Arthur said, and grinned as Merlin looked up with shock, almost dropping his spoon in surprise, fumbling awkwardly with it.

“Gwen?” he repeated dumbly. “That’s – that’s _perfect_! But Morgana-”

“Morgana fled two years ago,” Arthur pointed out. “And Gwen was left without any reason to remain in the royal household. I-” it felt a little too much like blowing his own trumpet to continue with that, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Gaius had refused to replace his assistant since you left. Gwen went to work for him, and she’s now the court physician. We’re very proud of her.”

“As you should be,” Merlin murmured. “And Morgana?”

“Morgana is our seer,” Arthur said firmly; he’d been defending his decision to take his sister back in since she arrived back in Camelot.

“How is she?” Merlin asked gently.

Arthur took a breath, then realised that this was _Merlin_. He didn’t have to defend himself from Merlin, who would never hurt him. “Changed,” he said thickly. “Her time away changed her. She’s still Morgana, and I still love her, but – something about her is different. She’s sadder.”

Merlin swallowed another mouthful of soup, and nodded. “I know how she feels,” he said quietly. “She’s not- it’s not unusual, to feel like that, Arthur.”

“I don’t blame her!” Arthur said quickly. “It’s just a reminder, of everything my father did wrong. Morgana is – Gaius tells me she’s an exceptionally powerful seer. Though Morgana won’t speak to him.”

“He suppressed her magic for years,” Merlin said sadly, and Arthur nodded.

“I know it was for her own good, but it made everything harder in the long run,” he said heavily. “And he could have told her. Should have.”

“Yes, he should. But Uther’s reign was frightening for people like us. Even Gaius wasn’t immune, he didn’t know how she would react. He didn’t know her like we did.”

Arthur shook his head. “He shouldn’t have done it,” he said simply, and Merlin nodded.

“I agree. But I think he made a bad decision because he was scared.”

“Probably true,” Arthur agreed, not especially interested in Gaius’ motives of over five years ago. “But the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. Morgana is so powerful, and is so useful to any kingdom – why chase out people like her? It makes no _sense_.”

“I don’t think Uther thought about it like that,” Merlin said gently, and Arthur digested that in silence. He knew, intellectually, that the reason he was so much in favour of magic was because of Merlin; if it wasn’t for Merlin, he might never have overcome the prejudices he’d been taught. He thought uncomfortably of the similarities between him and his father – Uther passionately against magic because of his beloved wife, Arthur in its favour because of a much-loved friend. Well, Merlin. Arthur didn’t really have words to describe what Merlin was to him.

“You’ll talk to Morgana, won’t you?” he said, shifting away from the topic at hand in some discomfort. “You’ll help?”

“Of course,” Merlin promised him. “If she’ll talk to me. She may not want to, I was so close to Gaius when he was – lying to her.”

“Talk to her. You can help each other,” Arthur said, perhaps with more hope than accuracy. “I need you both to help each other as much as you can.”

Merlin heaved a sigh and nodded, pushing away his plate and leaning back in his chair. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he promised, and Arthur nodded, relieved. He had more faith in Merlin than he could put into words, and for the first time since he became King, he felt a little hope in the future.

“I have faith in you,” he said simply, after a pause, and felt instantly repaid by the warmth of Merlin’s smile.


End file.
